Fight or Flight

by Young, Samantha

  Five years older than me. I’d suspected he was around that age. It made me wonder why some sexy Scottish woman hadn’t snapped him up already. Or was Caleb Scott the permanent-bachelor type?

  “Thirty-five. Then it’s definitely time for settling down.” Patrice’s gaze flew to me. “So have you two been spending much time together?”

  Caleb smirked. “Ava has been very accommodating with her time.”

  Do not blush, do not blush. I tried for a serene smile.

  “Oh? Have you been showing our guest around Boston? Where have you taken him?”

  For a moment, my brain went blank as I tried to think of a reply. I didn’t want to lie to Patrice. Thankfully, Caleb extricated me from the decision. “Neither of us have really had time for sightseeing. But Ava’s kept me company in the evening. For dinner.”

  “Oh, well, I’d thank you, darling, for the sacrifice”—she grinned at me—“but having dinner with a handsome Scotsman can hardly be called one.”

  I could practically feel Caleb’s smug smile on my skin. “Well, you’d be surprised, Patrice. Mr. Scott is a challenging individual sometimes. For example, he often forgets his manners,” I teased.

  Danby laughed outright, but Patrice’s eyes grew round with apprehension—I assumed because she considered my comment rude.

  “It’s true,” Caleb told Patrice as he locked gazes with me. “But Miss Breevort here has such fine manners. I’ve heard so many pleas from her lips they’ve got stuck in my head.”

  I was going to kill him. “Please and thank yous,” I said. “You mean please and thank yous.”

  Laughter twinkled attractively in his eyes, but he didn’t agree.

  Thankfully, Patrice either didn’t pick up on his innuendo or was choosing to be polite and ignore it. Not so thankfully, she began to wax poetical about me. “Yes, Ava is very refined. I said that to Danby after the first time I met her, didn’t I, Danby?”

  I blushed, uncomfortable with the sudden focused attention.

  Her husband gave me a kind smile as if sensing my discomfort. “She did.”

  Instantly engaged in her subject, Patrice leaned across the table to Caleb. “I said to Danby, that girl is a breath of fresh air. All the refinement of a society girl and none of the haughty, catty, spoiled brattishness. Not that all ladies of society are that way—” She gestured to herself. “I have some lovely friends, very generous, kind friends. But on a whole one must agree that being born into privilege can have its negative effects on a person’s perspective.”

  “True enough,” Caleb agreed.

  “And Ava was born into money, weren’t you, darling. Not society kind of money,” she continued before I could reply or, you know, slide off my chair and hide under the table in mortification. “But a very comfortable upbringing as far as material wealth goes. As far as parental guidance goes, that is an entirely different topic, and knowing what I know of Ava’s questionable emotional upbringing it is even more of a credit to her how spectacularly she turned out.”

  Dear God, I was regretting that one afternoon Patrice and I had shared too much champagne over a lunch meeting and she’d probed about my life until I’d spilled like a split bag of M& M’s.

  Aware of Caleb’s gaze on me, I opened my mouth to stop Patrice, but she forged on. “And let’s not get started on those so-called best friends of hers. It amazes me that she has faith in anyone after what she’s been through. But she is the kindest—”

  “Patrice,” I exclaimed, attempting to draw her to a halt.

  She blinked like an owl at me and I fumbled for a way to make her stop without upsetting her. I knew she meant no harm, but frankly this was the one time I couldn’t accept her lack of boundaries. However, I also couldn’t be impertinent to her. I scrambled for an excuse. “I forgot to mention that Harper has created a new dessert for Canterbury. You told me to tell you when she updates her menu and I thought I better mention it before I forget again.”

  “Oh. Well, fabulous.” She turned to Danby, who shot me a sympathetic smile. “We’ll have to book at Canterbury soon, then, darling.” She turned to Caleb. “Have you met Harper?”

  “Actually, I have. She seems … interesting.”

  I scowled. What did that mean?

  “Oh, very. You’ll know the story of how she and Ava met, then?”

  “Actually,” I butted in, “I haven’t told Caleb that story.”

  “Why ever not? It’s a wonderful story. Tell him. I want to hear it again.”

  “Patrice,” Danby muttered.

  She glanced between me and her husband, confused. “Oh, it’s not as if it’s terribly personal. I’ve heard Ava tell practical strangers this story, and Caleb isn’t a stranger.”

  Patrice wasn’t lying. Now, however, I was just scared of Caleb knowing anything real about me. I didn’t want him to feel like I was forcing that part of myself on him.

  Yet Patrice’s gaze was sharpening as it flicked between Caleb and me, and I felt her beginning to unravel our secret. Or at least realize there really was something going on between us.

  “Oh, fine.” I shrugged like it was no big deal. “I just don’t want to bore our guest.”

  “It’s not a boring story.”

  I composed myself and turned to him to find him already staring at me expectantly. “It was almost seven years ago. I’d recently arrived in Boston and I was trying to get an interior design business off the ground. My uncle lives here and he had set up an appointment for me with one of his clients who had an apartment on Beacon Street. I didn’t have much money at the time and didn’t want to accept outright charity from my uncle, so I was living out in this poky little apartment near Boston College. The client worked late and she had me over at her apartment to almost midnight. I had to hurry to get the last train at Park Street. It was a weeknight.” I sighed, feeling naive all over again. “And, unfortunately, when I got there, there was no one else around. I was standing alone waiting on the train when this guy in a hoodie appeared out of nowhere. He had a knife and—” I shook my head, seeing Caleb’s eyes narrow. “Well.” My tone turned bitter. “You can imagine he wanted more than just my purse, though he wanted that too. However, I barely had time to think about what I was going to do when suddenly glass shattered over his head and he just collapsed at my feet. And there, standing in front of me with a broken bottle in her hand, was a nineteen-year-old Harper glaring at me.” I smiled fondly at the memory. “ ‘Lady, are you stupid?’ she said to me. ‘You can’t walk around alone at this time of night.’ I was shaken by what had happened, but I took one look at her and said, ‘You’re alone.’ She just shrugged and said, ‘Do I look like I can’t take care of myself?’

  “Anyway, I called the police, even though Harper didn’t want me to, but I assured her my uncle would get it all sorted out. Which he did. The creep got arrested and Harper didn’t. But there was something about her. It was more than just feeling like I owed her, you know.” It wasn’t my place to go into Harper’s background, so I glossed over it. “Anyway, she wasn’t in the greatest situation and I kind of forced her to move in with me and I found out that the girl could cook. Especially desserts. And they were so imaginative and creative. She dreamed of working as a chef and I knew my uncle was friends with Jason Luton at Canterbury. He pulled some strings, got her an audition, and Jason thought she had potential. Harper has worked her way up over the years to become his pastry chef.”

  “I love that story,” Patrice said. “Don’t you just love that story?”

  Caleb’s expression had turned thoughtful, intense. “Harper sounds like my kind of person.”

  A flare of unexpected jealousy shot through me.

  “Oh, Harper’s a doll. Very talented. And I’m sure she would agree that she owes everything to Ava’s generosity.”

  “No,” I said sharply, upset that Patrice would think so. “Harper would have found success no matter what.”

  “Fiercely loyal.” Patrice reached over to squeeze my arm i
n affection, and then she threw Caleb a meaningful look. “I swear, this woman has no faults. I’m extremely lucky to have her as a friend and a designer.”

  “Everyone has faults, Patrice. Now, if you don’t stop complimenting me, I’m going to die of embarrassment.” I softened my words with a pleading smile. “Can we please change the subject?”

  She chuckled. “Of course, dear.” She turned to Caleb. “Tell us more about you, darling. We hardly know a thing.”

  Caleb sat up in his seat. “Actually, Patrice, I dinnae mean tae be rude, but I have a very early morning tomorrow and need tae excuse myself.”

  I felt relief that the conversational torture was over, but our disappointed host pouted. “Oh, well, what a shame. But of course.”

  “I’m tired also,” I said, pushing back from the table. “I hope you understand.”

  And just like that the disappointment slid right off Patrice’s face, her eyes bright with hope. “Of course, of course. Caleb, you must see Ava home.”

  I almost rolled my eyes.

  But Caleb just nodded. “Of course.”

  We said good night to the Danbys and thanked them for dinner, and I tried to avoid Patrice’s wide-eyed Get in there look as she kissed me on the cheek good-bye.

  Once we’d escaped the matchmaker and her husband, and I’d grabbed my coat from the cloakroom, I forced myself to look up at Caleb. “I am so sorry. She is the most obvious matchmaker in the entire world. Please don’t take her seriously.”

  He flicked me a glance. “Dinnae fash yourself. I took it all with a pinch of salt.”

  His refusal to meet my eyes made me uneasy and I found myself still needing to reassure him. “Good. I’ve never wanted to duck under a table before. Tonight was a first for me. What does ‘fash’ mean?”

  Caleb didn’t even crack a smile but his hand came to rest on the small of my back as he led me out of the building onto the busy lamplit street. The Marquess was a mere five-minute walk from the Four Seasons. “It means dinnae worry yourself.”

  “Oh.”

  Tension crept up between us as we left the chatter of people on the sidewalks, and the hum of traffic made the silence between us more pronounced. I didn’t know if the tension belonged to anticipation of the night ahead or if it was because of the newfound personal discoveries we’d made about each other.

  We turned onto Arlington Street. The tall streetlights placed evenly between the trees, along with the headlights of the cars passing us, lit the street so brightly you’d have to look up at the dark sky to even realize it was evening. As the silence between us stretched out, uncertainty filled me, and I felt the chill of the spring evening rush around my bare legs and seep under my light coat, when it had barely touched me moments before.

  Something was wrong.

  “I wasn’t lying,” Caleb suddenly said, his tone sounding distant and faraway. “I have an early morning. I should have put you in a cab back at the club. We’ll get you one at the hotel.”

  He didn’t want me tonight?

  Hurt immediately suffused me.

  Or maybe the jetlag and our late nights had finally caught up with him … but I suspected that wasn’t why he was rejecting my company. Had we crossed some invisible line Caleb had drawn between us and now he wanted nothing to do with me? Had something Patrice said about me turned him off?

  I felt a flare of pain in my chest that horrified me, and so with a carefully impassive expression, I said, “I can walk. I’m just across the Common.”

  “I’m not letting you walk alone at this time of night.”

  Silence fell between us again, and this time I didn’t just feel the chill; I felt cold through and through. Goose bumps prickled down my spine, and not the good kind. The more we walked, the less angry I became at his rejection and the more concerned I grew.

  He’d hurt my feelings.

  Hurt me.

  I raised a trembling hand to brush hair that had come loose from my braid back from my face, and I used the moment to eye him surreptitiously. He was staring determinedly ahead, his expression hard and remote as his long strides quickened, making it harder for me to keep up.

  His aloofness not only hurt me; it troubled me.

  Somehow, impossibly, I’d developed feelings for my Bastard Scot.

  Feelings plus sex?

  Bad idea.

  As we walked down Boylston Street, the dark red brick of the hotel building coming into view, I attempted to convince myself that Caleb’s rejection was a good thing.

  That was easier said than done.

  Caleb approached one of the doormen and asked for a cab, slipping him a tip. A sharp whistle rent the air and two seconds later a cab pulled into the hotel driveway.

  I knew I should say good night, that I should let him know I understood and that this was for the best. However, I didn’t understand. I didn’t know what had happened back at the Marquess to chill his regard toward me, and frankly it was worrying that he had this control over my emotions.

  Without saying a word to him as he opened the cab door for me, I got in and told the driver my address.

  Finally, I looked up at Caleb. He frowned down at me, indecision in his expression.

  Was he regretting his rejection?

  “Good-bye, Caleb.” I grabbed the door handle and jerked it out of his hold, slamming it shut. “Let’s go,” I said to the driver, not once glancing back as we drove away.

  Fourteen

  I couldn’t sleep.

  My sheets were wrinkled and abused from my tossing and turning the night before. I’d gotten up in the early daylight hours, changed into my running gear, and tried to sweat the unease and fatigue out of me. But running didn’t work like it usually did. By the time I walked into the office that morning I’d had three coffees in the hopes that I wouldn’t pass out from exhaustion later.

  Beneath my elegant chignon, my tailored pencil skirt, pale pink silk blouse, and carefully applied makeup, were dark circles and a tired body. Worse, a confused heart.

  I’d lost count of the times I’d reached for my phone to check for messages from him.

  Not a peep.

  I stared blankly at my computer screen, feeling blindsided, not only by my emotions, but by the way things had ended with Caleb. They’d ended in a whimper. There was no feeling of closure as I’d assumed there would be when he headed back to Scotland. Nor had it ended in an explosive argument, which, considering how things had started between us, I was almost sure would happen.

  No, it ended because something had caused Caleb to climb too deep into his thoughts. But what?

  Stop thinking about him.

  My cell rang, making me jolt in surprise. It was Harper.

  “Hey,” I answered, hoping she couldn’t hear the weariness in my voice.

  “Still banging the Scot?”

  I’d already informed Harper about my discussion with Caleb outside the restroom at Canterbury. Her reply was that I was a big girl, I could do what I wanted, but to just be careful. I should have heeded her words.

  “I don’t think so,” I said, trying to infuse a wry I don’t care note into my voice.

  “Oh?”

  “We had dinner last night with Patrice. She tried to play matchmaker and ended up making us cross these lines we’d drawn. You know … like not talking about personal stuff. I went home alone.”

  “You don’t sound that bothered by it.”

  Huh, guess I was better at pretending than I thought. “It was just sex, Harp.”

  “Yeah, but great sex. I’d be sad if I had to give up great sex.”

  A pang of longing burned in my chest. “It was fantastic. And I’m not going to lie, I’m going to miss it. But it’s for the best. He’s leaving in a week anyway. I really shouldn’t let myself get used to it.” Or him, or my inexplicable feelings for him. Like my jealousy. “Oh, by the way. Patrice made me tell the story of how you and I met, and Caleb said, and I quote, ‘She sounds like my kind of person.’ ”

&nbs
p; Harper grunted. “Am I supposed to swoon at the honor?”

  I laughed, feeling stupid that I’d mentioned it. Harper wasn’t me. She wasn’t looking for a stamp of approval from the guy, and for not the first time I wished I was more like my best friend.

  “Anyway, I was just checking in, babe, and wanted to ask if you were free on Saturday to come and see Vince play. Jason is letting me take the night off and giving Lou a shot at handling the section.” Lou was a junior chef Harper was training.

  “Of course. I’ll be there.”

  “Okay, but you need to buy a pair of jeans.”

  “C’mon. Can’t I just be me?”

  “It’s an indie punk rock bar, so no. A pair of jeans won’t kill you, Ava.” At my silence, she sighed. “Look at it this way. You, Ava Breevort—the woman who refuses to get in a relationship because it would mean giving control over to someone else—have had some wild times with a practical stranger. You had a breakthrough. Keep it going. Wearing jeans does not mean you aren’t civilized.”

  I heard the snicker in her voice and shook my head. I knew my obsession with looking perfect all the time was bordering on ridiculous, but this was the first time Harper had really called me out for it. “Jeans?”

  “Skinny ones that will make your ass look fantastic.”

  I thought of my parents and how they hadn’t called to see how I was doing after Gem’s funeral. How they didn’t have my back as our circle of friends glared at me with accusation in their eyes. How they’d forced me to that damn dinner the night before the funeral even though they should have known how horrible it was going to be for me. How they never had my back when I needed them.

  And how I was still letting them control me in the most silly, indirect ways. “Skinny jeans,” I said, suddenly feeling the absolute urge to buy them. “Maybe more than one pair.”

  Harper laughed. “Just take your time having your emotional breakthroughs.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re lucky I love you because I don’t put up with that kind of cheek from just anyone.”

  “I know. Love you too. I’ll text you closer to the time about Saturday.”